On this day a year ago, snow was covering the ground. The window panes were etched with frost. This year, we sailed through December with only one day of snow, and it quickly melted. But today it is cold and snow, they say, is on its way.
When I say it is cold, I mean the temperature is only 25 degrees Fahrenheit. Soon that will feel balmy. But not today. We were spoiled in December by unseasonable warmth. Nevertheless, the sun is shining and it lures me. I use my little pile of accumulated recycling as an excuse to drive to the park to drop it off. I would have gone anyway. I haven’t seen my favorite corner of the creek for a while now and I want to see its New Year colors.
A young man is jogging toward me on the sidewalk as I emerge from my car. His face is red from the cold, his breath making little clouds in the air. I think he looks wonderfully healthy and beautiful. I grin and say “Happy New Year!” He grins back and says, “Happy New Year to you, too!” We each like encountering another human being who is braving the cold just for the joy of it, for doing what we each love to do regardless.
The creek is racing over its rocky bed. It, too, is beautiful. The sound of it dances through the cold air. I see icicles dangling on tree roots on the opposite shore and work my way over the rocks to photograph them. The colors here in the shade are subtle winter hues, almost neutral. The sight of them delights me. It’s like opening a gift and finding a strand of lustrous pearls.
I soak it in, the whole of it. It is my duty: Someone has to carry the memory of this.
It is my duty.
It is my joy.